


Life Seems Unreal, Can We Go Back to Your Place

by madonnaharry



Category: One Direction (Band), The Strokes
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Choking, Coffee, Drug Use, Erotica, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Femme Fatale, Indie Artist Harry Styles, Indie Music, Inspired by Richard Siken, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Louis Tomlinson in Panties, M/M, Masturbation, Nail Polish, One Direction One Shot, One Shot, Panties, Pining, Poetry, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:14:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madonnaharry/pseuds/madonnaharry
Summary: “I like… your hands.” Louis says, because no pretense.“My hands?”“Yeah,” He marvels at Harry’s cross tattoo, his chunky silver rings, and his nails that were painted black. “They’d look nice around my neck.”or, indie boy Harry Styles and Existentialist Louis Tomlinson have kinky sex after accepting nothing matters.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Larry Stylinson, Niall Horan/Liam Payne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 87





	Life Seems Unreal, Can We Go Back to Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is super stylised so the visuals are super important to me, hence the emphasis on the clothes, the apartment, the music, etc. is all a driving force for why I wrote it.

Louis is dissociating. Hard. 

He wasn’t necessarily conscious of the fact that he was dissociating, more entranced on getting lost in the idea of his own morality. Somebody had handed him a pink pill shaped like Hello Kitty and called it ‘E.’ Now he felt all fuzzy and wise, sitting on this posh white couch at a party he had no business being at. This area of the flat wasn’t as crowded as the rest of the household, but still, he was surrounded with other folks lowly talking to each other. He can’t imagine what he must’ve looked like, fixated on one black tile on the ground as he pondered the nothingness that is life, and the totality of human nature. 

I need to ground myself, Louis thought. He tried to take in his own person. He looked down at himself; he studied the sparkling blue drink in his hand, the silverness of his nail varnish, his soft black jumper layered over a white turtleneck, his ripped blue dad jeans, his dirty white Vans. He memorised his outfit to a T, yet still can’t seem to bring himself back to reality. Should he go get Niall and Zayn? Tell them he was scared of being perceived and that they needed to go back to their shared home, now? The only reason they were here is that Niall had a crush on the guy who invited them, and Zayn and Louis were impeccable wingmen. But Louis didn’t count on doing Ecstasy for the first time tonight, and step out of his own subconscious. 

Is he going to die? Is he going to hallucinate himself into mania? 

He tried to focus on the music, but it seemed to make things worse. The host of the party, whoever the hell that was, was playing only vinyl records, meaning it was all going album by album. They had just swapped out Tame Impala’s Lonerism for The Strokes’ Is This It? Otherwise known as, the most existential albums Louis had ever heard. If he focused too hard on the lyrics to Soma, he was afraid he might have a panic attack. 

This party, albeit posh, beatnik, and New Age, was surprisingly very stylistic. 

Eventually, Louis started to come down a bit, despite the fact that he was still dissociating. He felt more fuzzy and less like death was imminent. Maybe Ecstasy wasn’t all that bad. Maybe everything was okay. Just when Louis felt okay enough to walk and talk to someone, he felt a dip in the posh white couch next to him. 

He didn’t take his eyes off the black tile his face fell in love with, but the guy who had sat down next to him was still in eyeshot, so Louis was able to make him out. His face looked unbothered, as his green eyes seemed dazed and his bushy brows furrowed carelessly. The bottom of his pink lips was stretched to the side as if he were contemplating whether or not to speak. His face was decorated lightly with sparkly makeup and blush. He had a white bandana in his hair with his chocolate curls clinging around it elegantly, and nestled into the bandana was a pair of silver glasses, as if he had been wearing them, and pushed them up there after no longer needing them.  
He was wearing a blue silk button up over a striped turtleneck and black corduroy pants. His feet were clad in platform Mary Janes, with his left foot in a white sock and his right foot in a black and white striped sock. 

If Louis were in right mind, he would say he was almost beautiful. But he was also conscious enough to know that of course a guy dressed like that was at this party. 

“You don’t seem like you’re fully here,” the guy speaks finally, causing Louis to finally look away from the tile, and take in the guy’s face. He was more beautiful when you gave him your full attention. 

“I’m sorry. I was totally dissociating,” Louis admits sheepishly, tugging his bottom lip into his teeth. 

“I’ve been there. What were you thinking about?” The mysterious man takes a swig from the silver bottle he’s holding, his rings clanging on the glass as he does so. 

“It’s a bit complex,” Louis starts. 

“Try me.” 

So, Louis goes into his whole existentialist rant, going on about how nothing matters and how everything in life is subjective. He talks about perception and how being perceived by others is scary and disillusioning. The mysterious man is absolutely entranced in what Louis is saying and hangs onto every single word. He nods his head in understanding and utters epithets like “right, right!” and “Totally. Yes. 100%. Period.” whenever he feels Louis makes a good point. 

“I’m terrified of being perceived,” he says once Louis has finished. “It probably fuels my complete existence.” 

“I feel the same!”

“For so long, I used to play it safe. I wouldn’t do anything very enticing. I only wore plain white t-shirts and black jeans, like every single day. I hated it, but it was very, very safe.”

“What made you stop playing it safe?” Louis asks, intrigued by how the man in front of him is dressed now. 

“I wasn’t doing any justice to my inner queer torment,” he jokes, “Plus, like you said, I eventually settled on the fact that nothing matters, and life isn’t real.” 

“See, when we accept that nothing matters, then we have no pretense, and life is so much easier.” 

“Or scarier, knowing that nothing matters in the end, no matter who you are.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Or scarier.” Louis smiles. “I’m Louis.” 

“Harry,” Harry greets, “Or am I?” 

“What’s in a name? I’ve already formed my opinion on you before I knew your name. That’s why perception is tricky.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Harry teases, clutching his heart. “Don’t confirm my perception nightmares.” 

Louis laughs. 

“So what’s the opinion you’ve formed on me, then?” Harry continues. 

“No shame?” 

“None at all. No pretense, remember?” 

“Of course. Since life’s not real and nothing matters, and I also did Ecstasy like half an hour before this conversation, I’ll say that I think you’re really cute, and not all that dense. Oh, and if it’s any consolation, which, I think it will be, I like your outfit, and it makes me like you more.” By Louis’ normal person standards, this was something bold to say. 

Harry seems to be grateful for his boldness. Or maybe, just maybe, Harry is just horny, and no shame and no pretense just means he’d get laid faster. Louis chooses to have faith, though. 

“It’s all the consolation,” Harry smirks. “You’re not fully right, though. I’m very dense. Half of my vocabulary is trendy queer slang.” 

“That doesn’t make you dense. At least we’re speaking the same language, queen!” 

Harry laughs and scratches along his prominent jawline. “See, funny thing. I knew you had to be gay. I percieved you as gay because of your cuffed jeans and your choice of drink. That, and the fact that I think I can make out the shape of a bottle of poppers in your trousers.” 

Louis can’t help but turn absolutely crimson as he pulls out the bottle of Amsterdam poppers. “I’d tell you it’s not mine, but it sounds like a cop out.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, either. Niall gets a monthly box of four shipped to their flat, and he slipped one into Louis’ pocket before the party, encouraging Louis to try and find himself a one night stand. 

“It totally does,” Harry says, and then pulls out his own bottle of poppers from his pocket. “Hey look, we’re matching.”

Funny enough, they both happened to have the same brand of poppers. 

“Does this mean we’re both bottoms?” Louis jokes. 

Harry laughs, “Lucky for you, I consider myself more of a switch.” 

“Lucky indeed. Very lucky.” 

They smile at each other. Alone, Together by The Strokes drifts dreamily through the room. Louis begins to feel a little lightheaded, and holds a hand to his forehead respectively. 

“You all right?” Harry asks, observing Louis. 

“Little lightheaded, s’all.”

“D’you want to lay down in the bedroom? I’m friends with the host, and I know he won’t mind if we go in there.” Harry offers. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

Going from one end of the flat to the other felt like a trip he might’ve needed a map for if it hadn’t been for Harry. The bedroom was on its own secluded floor, weirdly enough, so once they were inside, they couldn’t hear anything from the party below. 

The room itself was just as fancy as the rest of the house. Everything was colour-coordinated off-white and black, just like the den. 

“Feel free to lay down, I can get you some paracetamol.” Harry offers sweetly. 

“No need. I think I just needed to get away from the noise. Come lay down with me.” 

“You sure?” 

No, Louis wasn’t sure. But as they had decided, life doesn’t matter, which means no pretense, which means no boundaries or formalities. Right?

Louis nods, and lays down on the white cotton pillows. Harry joins him after setting his drink and eyeglasses on the bedside table. He turns to take in Louis’ features. Louis looks right back. Harry’s face looks like he’s contemplating something to say. 

“Do we mean something when we talk?” Harry finally asks. 

“Hmm?”

“It’s a quote from a Richard Siken poem.” 

Louis smiles fondly. “Ah of course, some great queer poetry. Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.”

“These, our bodies, possessed by light.” Harry adds to the quote, and then takes out a silver vape, and inhales deeply. 

“Tell me we'll never get used to it.” Louis finishes. Harry blows vapor into his face, but is then very apologetic about it. 

“Sorry!” Harry says, but Louis takes the vape pen and inhales just as deeply, before leaning over and blowing it into Harry’s eyes. 

“I deserved that,” Harry laughs, and then adds, “That was ridiculously endearing. And slightly hot.” 

“Except it wouldn’t have been, of course, if I wasn’t a smoker, and found nicotine use absolutely disgusting.” 

“You’re blowing my mind again,” Harry shakes his head, taking another puff. 

“Maybe it’s the Ecstasy I took. It made me smarter and more attuned to the contradictions of living.” 

“You know, I’ve heard that certain things feel a lot better when you’re on Ecstasy.” Harry says simply. 

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“Simple things. Showering, eating, kissing.” 

“Hmm, well I don’t trust myself near a shower right now, and I’m not hungry, so those are out. Only leaves me with kissing. But who to kiss?” Louis proclaims. 

Harry smiles. “I’ve got someone in mind.” 

He was right; kissing does feel a lot better when you’re on Ecstasy. And it helps when the person you’re kissing is a super hot existentialist with very soft lips and a wandering tongue. Louis can’t help but melt into Harry very quickly, letting his hands wander from Harry’s chest, to Harry’s face, to Harry’s hair. He can tell Harry seems to like being touched all over by the sounds that escape from his mouth whenever Louis does something new. They eventually start to get more into it, and Louis finds himself straddling Harry, pressing their crotches together to keep the reactions spilling out of the boy beneath him. Harry bites down on his bottom lip, which elicits a strong moan out of Louis. 

“Fuck, you sound so hot,” Harry mumbled into Louis’ mouth. Louis pulls on Harry’s hair, causing Harry himself to moan hotly. 

“You don’t sound too bad yourself.” Louis flirts, licking Harry’s jawline teasingly. 

“Fuck,” is all Harry mutters out. 

“Want you to…” Louis starts, and then stops himself, getting bashful midsentence. He instead starts to kiss down Harry’s neck to hide his face. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now,” Harry says in between pants. He grabs Louis’ hair and pulls him up from his neck, which Louis can’t help but get turned on by. “No pretense, remember?” 

“No pretense,” Louis agrees. He brings his face to Harry’s. “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry smirks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Want you fuck me up and wreck me.” Louis says boldly, causing Harry to moan just at his words. 

“Gladly,” Harry says, reaching up to kiss Louis. “But not here. I can’t fuck you on my mate’s bed.” 

“Why? Nothing matters.” 

“Maybe to us two mad existentialists, but to Liam, I think he’ll care if I have sex on his bed.” 

“I like to live by the motto of ‘Ask forgiveness, not permission.’”

“Yeah, and I like to live by the motto of, ‘Don’t use up your best mate’s lube.’” 

Louis laughs, “Fair. We could go to my place, but I live with two lads who don’t know how to clean up after themselves.” 

“Sounds homey,” Harry smiles. “I have somewhere we can go.” 

“Life seems unreal, can we go back to your place…” 

“Are those… Are those the lyrics from Alone, Together?” 

“Seemed fitting,” Louis says, and then places another kiss on Harry’s red, bitten lips. 

They head downstairs, and Harry goes to get his purse from the lounge as Louis tries and finds Zayn and Niall to let them know where he’s headed. Niall is nowhere to be found, but he finds Zayn, sitting on the island in the kitchen, holding a sparkly drink in one hand and texting with the other. His face is all red, so Louis can only predict that he’s on something. 

“Zaynie,” Louis greets playfully. “Going home with someone so don’t expect me home. Where’s Niall?”

Zayn smirks, “Niall scored with his crush. He seems like a good chap, too.”

“Go Niall!” 

“Go you, too. Now it’s my turn.” Zayn says, hopping off the island. 

Louis smiles, and waves at Zayn before going back into the lounge to find Harry. He finds him texting someone, with a baby blue purse swung around his shoulder. He’s also now wearing his thin frames over his eyes. 

“Hey,” says Harry, not looking up from his phone, “I can’t find Liam, which is weird, so I’m just texting him to let him know we’re leaving.” 

“Sounds good to me.”

Eventually, the two boys pile into Harry’s car - which was a very sleek black Range Rover that Louis wanted so desperately to know how he could afford, but didn’t ask for the sake of their whole ‘nothing matters’ theme for the night - and sped down the street. It was raining, and Harry was playing some very soft indie music, and combined with his hand holding Harry’s, Louis felt very safe and warm. 

“I like… your hands.” Louis says, because no pretense. 

“My hands?”

“Yeah,” He marvels at Harry’s cross tattoo, his chunky silver rings, and his nails that were painted black. “They’d look nice around my neck.”

Harry drives a little faster. 

When they get inside the flat Harry drove them to, Louis is immediately pinned against the wall, and his neck is being attacked by Harry’s mouth. 

“I don’t even get a tour of your house?” Louis jokes, lacing his fingers into Harry’s curls. 

All Harry says is, “This isn’t my house,” and Louis is thinking too hard with his dick to keep asking questions. 

They stumble into the nearest room, and fall onto the bed, Louis on the bottom, and Harry straddling his thin waist. They’re both trying to remove each other’s tops at the same time. 

“Curse us gay boys and our insidious yet impeccable fashion sense,” Harry pants, finally pulling Louis’ jumper out of his trousers where they were tucked in, and off his body. 

“Layering is just so in right now,” Louis agrees, slipping off Harry’s silk button-up, and now they’re both just in turtlenecks. Those eventually come off too, and now there are two shirtless boys looking at each other in complete lust. 

“Do the bandana and frames stay on during sex?” Louis teases as Harry is on his neck again, biting down fruitfully. 

“Frames would fog up, but the bandana keeps my hair out of my face.” He gives a serious answer to Louis’ joke question. Louis lifts his face from his neck, and pulls them both off. 

“That just doesn’t work for me. I want to see your curls all over the place.” He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty,” Harry breaks the banter as he takes in Louis’ bare chest. “You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.” 

Louis doesn’t believe that, but for the sake of a good night of sex, he lets Harry lie to him. 

Harry rolls his hips down into Louis’ crotch, causing him to yelp at the sudden friction. He removes his hands from where they’re tangled in Harry’s hair and moves them down to his waist, pushing Harry into him more. 

“What are you into?” Harry asks almost rhetorically, grabbing Louis’ hands and pinning them against the headboard. “I know you want me to choke you but what else? You like praise? Pain? Want me to fuck you like I want you dead?” 

“Yes, all of that, just fuck me, please. Want you inside me. Wanna be full.”

“Now we’re kinky AND greedy, are we?” Harry smirks, hips still rolling into Louis. “We have all night.” 

“We have all night if you don’t consider time to be an illusion,” says Louis. 

“I knew I did right in taking you home.” 

Still pinning Louis’ hands to the headboard, he goes to town on his chest, scattering marks everywhere he can, making Louis whine at the feel. As hot as it is to have his hands pinned like this, he’s desperate to touch Harry, which is making him writhe and squirm like crazy. 

“Is there a problem?” Harry asks, sickeningly sweet. 

“Wanna touch you,” Louis chokes out. 

Harry kisses his nose in response, before continuing on his chest. 

Once Harry is finally satisfied with the amount of bruises on Louis, he finally lets go. At this point, Louis is so hard it’s painful, since Harry was sucking on his chest for what felt like hours. He immediately grabs the back of Harry’s neck and pulls his face to his, locking them back in a passionate, hungry kiss. As their lips move together, Louis reaches down for Harry’s pants and begins fumbling with his belt. His hand grazes Harry’s erection, which confirms that they both are painfully hard. 

“Did I say you could do that?” Harry says dominantly, hand coming down on Louis’ neck and holding him down, forcing him into submission. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Louis is going dizzy with desire. 

“Let me take off yours first, angel,” Harry adds, removing his hand from Louis’ neck and undoing the button on his jeans. He’s so preoccupied with the emptiness his neck feels that he at first doesn’t understand the loud groan Harry makes. Then, he looks down at his crotch. Oh, yeah. 

“Fuck,” Harry says. “Shit, I know it shouldn’t be all that big a deal, but… fuck. The fact that you’re wearing panties is so fucking hot. Shit.” 

Louis completely forgot he had put those on. He owns one pair of panties, and he wears them with these jeans only because they’re tight around his bum and he wouldn’t want the outline of pants sticking out from underneath his trousers. Should he explain that? Or is it hotter thinking that Louis is just always wearing panties? 

“You like them?” is what Louis settles on saying. 

“So much. Wish I could fuck you through them,” Harry mumbles, palming himself lazily at the sight of Louis. 

Louis sits up and starts undoing Harry’s belt again. “I think it’s hot that you started touching yourself at the sight,” he says into Harry’s chest. The belt is undone, and his trousers come down. Harry himself is wearing tight pants that leaves little to be imagined. Louis is so turned on he might pass out. 

“Yeah? Think I’d rather touch you, though,” Harry says, pushing Louis back into the bed and reaching down to stroke him through his underwear. Louis moans fervently.

“You’re so responsive, fuck, it’s killing me.” Harry pants, touching Louis faster. 

“I can’t help it. I love your hands all over me.” Louis bucks into Harry’s hand, and then reaches down to grab Harry’s hard on, causing Harry to hiss at the sudden touch. They’re so close that they can feel each other touching. 

“I bet you’d just let me do whatever I wanted to you,” Harry says, his breath hitching in his throat. Louis nods desperately, causing Harry to smirk. He leans down and wraps his free hand around Louis’ neck before leaning in to kiss him again. This is causing Louis to moan louder than ever. Harry moves his hand from his neck and pulls at Louis’ hair before getting up, stopping all touching he was doing. Louis pouts. 

“Relax, love, and grab the lube.” Harry says breathlessly, motioning to the nightstand on the left. Louis reaches over and opens the drawer, finding lube and a packet of condoms. 

“This lube is so fancy,” Louis notes. “I know this brand is expensive.” 

“You make the investment when you want good sex,” Harry shrugs, grabbing the bottle from Louis. He leans down and begrudgingly slips off Louis’ panties, but not before taking a mental picture which makes Louis blush ten ways to Sunday. He takes in the image of Louis’ pink cock. 

“Your cock is so pretty,” Harry says. “Like you.”

“Stop being cheesy,” Louis whines, hiding his face in his hands. 

Harry kisses down his stomach to his crotch, and then kisses the head of Louis’ cock, causing Louis to shiver. Harry kitten licks the head before taking down Louis’ cock in his mouth, and Louis moans loudly, grabbing Harry’s curls in between his polished fingers. He is losing it at how well Harry is sucking him off. His cheeks are all hollowed out and his lips are pink. After a while of Harry gagging on Louis’ cock, he stops, about to lube up his fingers, but Louis stops him. 

“Want your mouth,” is what Louis says. “Want you to eat me out.” 

Harry won’t say no to that. He flips Louis over, and now Louis’ bum is prominently in the air. Harry places a few soft kisses to his cheeks, which makes Louis giggle at how weirdly intimate the gesture feels. 

“Harry…” Louis whines. “Stop teasing me.” 

“You moaning is just so hot, it makes me want to drag everything out.” Harry says, and before Louis can respond, Harry is dipping his tongue into his tight heat. Louis squeaks. 

Harry works up to being more confident with his tongue, lapping at Louis’ walls expertly. Louis is moaning shamelessly, and a series of curse words leave his lips. He grips onto the sheets below him for his dear life. 

It seems like Harry gets off on Louis’ sounds and dirty talk, so he tries his best to be responsive for Harry while his mouth is occupied. “Fuckfuckfuck Harry, you feel so good, want you inside me so bad…” 

Harry pants, and then sticks a finger alongside his tongue. He manouvers them together for a bit before removing his tongue altogether and sticking a second finger in when he feels Louis can take it. 

“Gonna get up to three, and then I’ll fuck you, yeah?” 

“Fuck, Harry, want you so bad.”

“I know baby, I’ve got you, gonna fuck you really good. You’re taking my fingers so well.” He scissors his finger inside of Louis, stretching him out as well as he can. His fingers are long enough where he can easily reach Louis’ prostate, but he purposely avoids it for the sake of not teasing Louis anymore. Once he feels he can handle it, he puts a third finger in. Almost immediately, Louis fucks himself back on his fingers. 

“You’re so fucking desperate for it, fucking hell.” Harry groans. Louis pants in response. 

Harry sticks his fingers in deeper, and Louis can feels his rings inside him. Louis reacts to the sudden feeling, making Harry stop for a second. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

“Your rings… fuck, I liked how they felt.” Louis says sheepishly, and then buries his face into a pillow. 

“I’m sorry, I usually remove them -” 

“No, keep going. It felt good.”

Harry smirks. 

After a while of deeply fucking Louis with his fingers, Louis is writhing in desire. 

“Fuck me, Harry, please. Wanna feel you.” Louis begs. 

“I don’t know, maybe I want you to beg for it more. Don’t feel like you want it that badly yet.” Harry says, that bastard. 

“Haaaaaaaarryyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase.” Louis whines crookedly. Harry snorts. 

“Yeah baby, I got you. My poor desperate boy. Just wants to be fucked, huh?” 

“I deserve it,” Louis sniffles. 

“Yes you do, you’ve been such a good boy,” Harry says, removing his fingers. 

“You’re giving me butterflies,” Louis mumbles at his new pet name. 

“How are you being cute with your arse in the air and your dick leaking precum?” Harry teases. He pulls down his pants and grabs the lube and the condom beside him on the bed. Louis shakes his arse in anticipation as Harry rolls up the condom and lubes himself up. 

“You ready, baby?” Harry asks sweetly. 

“Been ready, wanker.” 

“Wanker? I can’t think of a more inappropriate insult, as I am about to put my cock in your arse.” Harry laughs. He presses the tip of his cock to Louis’ hole before pushing the head in. 

With steady communication throughout, Harry bottoms out and stays as still as possible to let Louis adjust to the newfound stretch. Eventually, he hears a meek “move,” from Louis, and Harry starts to thrust into him slowly. 

“What are you, my nan? Harder!” Louis demands, causing Harry to laugh, but nonetheless speed up. Eventually, Louis is drowning in moans because Harry is fucking him so well. 

“Fuckfuckfuck Harry, yes, fuck, don’t ever stop…” is along the lines of things Louis manages to croak out. 

“Doing so well, Louis, taking my cock so well.” Harry coos in response. The praise is turning Louis on even more. He’s such a bottom. 

Harry’s thrusts turn into relentless pounding, and Louis is shaking with how good he feels. His knuckles turn white with how hard he grips the white sheets below him. Harry is holding onto his hips so hard there will probably be bruises, which makes Louis feel even more aroused. He likes the fact that he’s going to walk out of here all marked up, to remind him of this great night he’s having with his two new friends, Harry and Ecstasy. Louis is going back and forth with whether or not he wants to reach down and jerk himself off, but maybe it’s hotter for both him and Harry if he were to cum untouched, which seems very possible with how close he feels from how hard Harry is railing him. 

“Fuck, so hard, Harry, I’m so close…” 

“Me too, baby. You gonna cum all over yourself for me?” Harry asks, his voice broken. 

“Fuck, gonna get myself all dirty.” 

Harry hits Louis’ prostate unexpectedly, causing Louis to yelp at the sudden feeling. 

“Did I find it, baby?” Harry asks. 

“Oh yeah, fuck, you found it.” 

Harry aims for his prostate a few more times and it’s not long until Louis finishes with a cry, some of it getting on the bed and some of it getting on his chest. Harry fucks him through his high, and then he himself finishes into the condom. He pulls out and ties off the condom, throwing it to the side of whoever’s room this is. Louis falls onto his back, and when Harry notices the cum on his stomach, he leans over and starts to lick it off. 

“Fucking hell, Harry, you’re so hot…” Louis says, watching Harry with blazing eyes.

Harry doesn’t respond, but once Louis’ chest is clean, he leans up to Louis’ mouth, and spits his cum back into his mouth. 

Well, that’s new. 

It’s so disgustingly hot that Louis moans. Harry smiles down at him, seemingly relieved that Louis enjoyed his filthy display. Harry runs his hands into Louis’ hair, battening down the cinnamon roll of a curl Louis had styled into it for the party. Louis puts his hands into Harry’s hair in return. It’s lazy and intimate. 

“I run my hands in your hair once, your curls are gone. But you can’t get rid of my curls no matter how hard you try.” Harry says, a smirk full of fondness on his face. 

Louis rolls his eyes, “Brag about it why don’t you?” 

Harry laughs. He moves his hands down to Louis’ cheeks, tracing the outline of his cheekbones. “Hi,” he giggles, giddy from having just orgasmed. 

“Hi!” Louis greets back, just as giddy. “You’re an amazing lay.” 

“Really? I thought nothing mattered.” 

“Nothing does matter. But for a split second, for a very brief fleeting moment while you were fucking me, you were all that mattered.” 

Harry smiles. “Imagine how great it would be if we actually had any love for life, or each other.” He says. Louis continues to smile at him through that weird comment.

“I can say that, right? No pretense?” Harry adds hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “No pretense.” 

**

There are a couple things Louis had wished he had known going into the night previous. 

Number One: The cute boy you have existential sex with can very well become cuter in the morning after, when his voice is all raspy, his face is all pink, and his offering to buy you breakfast. This is dangerous, because getting breakfast is too domestic in Louis’ eyes. This is a one way track to developing feelings; but, Louis is trying to continue to think nothing matters even when the Ecstasy has worn off, so he takes the Egg McMuffin from cutie Harry, and eats it gingerly in the passenger seat of a sleek black Range Rover. 

Number Two: When going to a party your friend was invited to, always ask how they know the host. If Louis had taken the five minutes before the party to ask Niall for some context, he would’ve found out some very clarifying things - for instance, the guy Niall had a crush on was Liam, the owner of the flat and the best friend of the existentialist he got fucked by the night before. Niall knew Liam from a music recording class they both took at a nearby music studio. If Louis had asked these questions when he should have, he would’ve known that Liam was the frontman of a famous indie band, with three guys named Nick, Matty, and Harry. If Louis had asked these questions when he should have, he would’ve saved himself sitting on the island of their kitchen, talking to Zayn and Niall about his conquest with a cup of coffee in his hand, only to find out he got railed by the bassist of their favourite band, that were on hiatus in London, living in temporary housing while they individually worked on material for their next album. 

(“There is no conceivable way you both got fucked by two-fourths of our favourite band. There is no possible way.” Zayn shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I didn’t know that the Harry that fucked me was bassist Harry Styles!” Louis protests. 

“Dude, how? I was going on and on about how excited I was to hang out with Liam Payne from The Rogue. You didn’t think to connect the dots?” Niall retaliates.

“It’s more your guys’ favourite band than mine. I just listen to them when you guys put them on.” Louis huffs. 

“You guys are so going to get songs written about you!” Zayn exclaims.)

Number Three: Taking Ecstasy is not smart if you’re already an anxious person like Louis, because while it does make you feel blissed out, it can also make you feel even more anxious. Somehow in the duration of last night, Louis’ subconscious anxieties fuelled by Ecstasy caused him to practically bite a hole into the inside of his lip, which stung anytime he ate or talked. It also didn’t help that his lips had also been attacked by Harry’s for hours. So, when Louis went into work the following day, and everyone could see his swollen lips combined with his multitude of love bites, all of his coworkers could tell he was well-fucked. Louis can’t decide if he liked that, or was absolutely embarrassed by it. 

Number Four: If you let an indie boy top you to next Wednesday, suck a thousand and one hickies into your skin, and lick cum off your chest and spit in your mouth, there is absolutely no doubt he will turn you into sappy, empirical indie art. Especially if you accidentally give him no means of contacting you. 

Louis found that last one out the hard way. 

It was a few weeks after he and Harry had sex, and he had meandered into the flat after a killer shift at the Brunswick Bakehouse. The only thing on his mind for that night was to shower to get rid of his putrid coffee smell, attempt to work on a paper for his philosophy class at uni, and then eventually give up and resort to watching whatever Zayn and Niall put on the telly for the night. Louis stepped into the kitchen, as it is the first thing you step into after the threshold, and put the mail down on the island for his mates to sort through whenever they got the chance. He hung his purse around the side of the nearest chair and unzipped the top of his black coveralls, tying the arms around his waist and leaving his top in just a white tee. He leaned over the stove and grabbed the kettle to make tea when Niall had called out to him. 

“Lou? Is that you out there?” He yells, voice thick and Irish. 

“Yeah, lad. Want some tea?” Louis offers gingerly. He barely even finished his response when Niall comes running into the kitchen with his phone displayed in front of him. 

“Bloody hell Niall, I would’ve brought you the tea, no need to come out here looking indecent.” Louis groans when Niall comes out in nothing but pants. 

“I have something absolutely urgent to show you. So, I was sexting Liam, and -”

“I swear to God, if you show me this man’s dick -”

“No! But, it is impressive, I mean, he’s gotta be like, ten inches, easy.”

“Niall, for Christ’s sake - wait, ten inches? You took a whole ten inches in your arse?” 

“It wasn’t easy. Took a lot of foreplay.” 

“I can’t lie, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks, lad!” 

They high-five. 

“We’re getting off topic!” Niall groans. “Liam sent me the lyrics to a song the band is working on right now.” 

“And?” 

“Harry wrote them.”

Louis freezes, mid kettle pour. “Niall…”

“Lou, they’re totally about you.” 

Louis drops the kettle, feeling multiple things at once, but definitely nothing positive. “What are they? Wait, no, don’t show me. I don’t want to know. I hate indie men. I HATE ALL MEN! Okay, read me the first line - no wait, don’t. I don’t want to hear. Fucking hell. He conned me. I so got conned. He used my dick for song inspo. He so did. I swear to God, Niall, if you ever play that stupid band near me again -” 

“Louis, chill out!” Niall interrupts his blabbering. 

“Chill out? How can I chill out when Harry fucking Styles is going to land me on the cover of Indie Twink Weekly with his stupid rip off of The Strokes?” 

“Is that a real magazine?” 

Louis swats Niall in the arm. “No it’s not a real magazine, you twat! Read me the lyrics.” 

So, Niall reads him the song, and there is absolutely no denying the song is about Louis. He describes their night perfectly, from Louis dissociating, to them listening to Alone, Together, to their running joke of how nothing matters, to the Richard Siken quotes, to Louis asking Harry to choke him in his car, to Louis wearing panties, to Harry spitting cum in his mouth. Harry recalled their night in song so vividly. Louis wanted to die. He wanted to fall into the floor and never face anyone again. 

“I’m mortified,” is all Louis says. 

“It’s not that bad.” Niall tries to soothe him. “It’s sort of endearing, how highly he thinks of your thoughts and your dick. Were you really wearing panties?” 

“They were tight jeans!” Louis exclaims, throwing his face in his hands. “I’m losing my mind, Niall. I’m never having sex again. Or listening to music again.”

“Nobody is going to know it’s about you, you know. I only figured it out because you told me what happened. Not even Liam knew who it was about.” Niall reassures. 

“I guess you’re right.” Louis says. 

“But, uh, Louis?”

“Yeah, lad?”

“Liam says that whoever the song is about, Harry seems really hung up on them.” and with that, Niall leaves the kitchen. 

Louis puts his face in his hands and screams at the top of his lungs. 

It’s an hour later and Louis is sat in his room with a cup of tea and his cellular in his hands, his philosophy paper completely neglected. With maximum shame, he goes onto Instagram and searches for Harry’s page, for no particular reason other than wanting to see what this son of a bitch has been up to while pining over Louis’ brain. He looks at his first three posts, and it’s already clear to Louis that Harry doesn’t run his own Instagram. Everything he posts is just a vague promotion of something related to his band. He goes on Twitter, and it seems exactly the same. His last tweet was during the release of their sophomore album over a year and a half ago. 

Louis sighs. Maybe that’s for the better. Even if he could contact Harry, what would he say? ‘Hey lad, I read your song, and I know nothing matters, but if you release that song I’ll kill myself?’ 

Louis wasn’t necessarily sure what to make of all this. He had just finally come to terms with the fact that he had sex with someone who could probably afford to buy him. But now that man was turning him into music? Should Louis feel lucky? This is probably the most interesting thing to ever happen. Let’s face it, Louis wasn’t all that interesting. He was 22 and just now starting uni. He worked at a cafe part time, which was no lavish career. The most exciting things he’s done were only because of Niall and Zayn, who both had good paying jobs in some sort of music-related field, and he could only afford to live with them because they paid a majority of the rent. All Louis really did was send himself into life crises by thinking too much, go to parties and do cocaine and poppers that he never bought himself, and try a little too hard to style the clothes he thrifted from Goodwill. He wasn’t rich, or interesting. Sure he had a lot of good ideas and philosophies, but where was that going to get him? He had no natural propensity. He was just Louis: barista, student, and thinker. 

But Harry. Harry was rich, talented, and, let’s face it, well-endowed. He had all the brains that Louis had, plus the beauty and personality to back it up. It seemed that he was an established music maker by day, but still had the glorious anonymity to get past the frenzies at parties by night. It was like he was cheating at being a celebrity. He had all this going for him, and he chooses to sit around and daydream about Louis? He wanted to be mad that Harry never mentioned who he actually was to Louis, but to be fair, Louis never actually mentioned who he was to Harry. It’s a double standard, and he knows that. 

But, would Louis have slept with Harry had he known he would be the subject of his arts and affections by the end? Maybe not. What was Louis supposed to do now? Track Harry down, quit his job, and be the permanent groupie to some wannabe indie stars? The only thing Harry and Louis had in common, it seemed, are the things that every queer male-identifying person had in common - a lavish display of existentialism, vast knowledge of Richard Siken poems, and kinky anal sex. Louis didn’t even really like the Is This It? album by The Strokes all that much. Angles was much better, thank you. 

Okay, Louis is getting ahead of himself. He’s creating problems that aren’t real. Of course Harry doesn’t want Louis to drop everything and be with him. Harry is a travelling star bassist who wants to shag the occasional alt twink and prance around with platform Mary Janes on his feet and a bass guitar strapped to his stupid, toned back. Him writing this pathetic and awe-inspired melodrama that is this song means absolutely nothing, and doesn’t change a thing. They fucked, they shared their mantras of how nothing matters, and that was all. If Harry wanted more, he would have at least started by asking for Louis’ number. 

Right? 

Did Louis want more? He wasn’t against relationships, per se, but never really saw himself as boyfriend material. He was getting by swimmingly with his casual use of Tinder and the occasional railing, thank you very much. He was no band wife. Especially to bassist Harry Styles. 

But, did Louis want more? Or was he just evaluating if he wants more because of that stupid, albeit romantic, song? 

Oh, fuck it all to hell. Fuck this twisted, rushed narrative Louis has found himself in. Fuck every sickly looking indie white boy to walk around this Earth. Fuck every brooding cutie like Harry Styles. Fuck every song ever written about someone else. 

Look at this tangle of thorns. 

Before Louis’ brain can catch up, Louis’ feet has dragged him out of his bed, out of his room, knocking onto Niall’s door, and, once given the okay, into Niall’s room. 

“You okay, lad? Not planning on throwing any shapes at this Styles guy, are ya?” Niall asks cheekily, not looking up from his phone, fervently texting someone Louis can only assume is Liam. He was no longer naked, and now adorned a beige turtleneck and navy blue chinos. 

“If a violin string could ache, I would be that string.” Louis sighs, sitting down at the swivel chair at Niall’s desk. 

“Is that Pale Fire?”

“Close. Lolita.” 

“You must really got it bad if you’re coming into my room and quoting Nabokov, mate.” Niall regards. 

Before Louis can stop himself, he’s rambling. “I want to text Harry, but he didn’t give me his number, so I tried to find him on social media, but it’s clear he doesn’t control his own accounts. So I came in here to ask you to ask Liam for it, but then Liam will know the song is about me, and then Harry will know I asked Liam for it instead of just asking him myself when I was with him, and that’s pathetic because - oh God, listen to me.” Louis slaps his own forehead. 

“Yikes! I’ve never heard you overthink something like this.” Niall exclaims, putting down his phone. “Clearly it’s important to you, so why don’t I ask Liam for it, and say it’s for something related to my job?” 

“But then Liam is going to ask Harry if it’s okay if he gives you his phone number, and then I’m going to text him, and Harry is going to be confused, and upset.”

“Lou, what?” Niall exasperates, scratching his head. 

“I don’t know, Niall! Why’d he have to write that stupid song?” 

“Clearly, Harry is just as hung up on you, so I think he’ll be receptive to you texting him.” Niall says, and then picks up his phone again and starts texting. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asks cautiously. 

“Getting the number from Liam.” Niall says casually. 

“NO!”

“Louis, please! You’re freaking out about something that can be solved with me texting Liam!”

“SOLVED? You think texting Harry SOLVES it? It’ll probably make it worse! He’ll probably write more songs about me! Fucking hell, why don’t they just put me naked and high on the cover of their next album!”

“You are so dramatic!” Niall yells, and then turns his phone screen towards Louis. “There’s his number, now text him!” 

So, Louis takes down the number, and retreats back to his room. He sits down in his bed and stares at the blank text box for what feels like ages, before he gets an idea. 

He sets down his phone and reaches under his nightstand, grabbing the book he needs and flipping through it. He settles on a poem he likes, and starts typing. 

Louis: The blonde boy in the red trunks is holding you head underwater because he is trying to kill you. 

Louis waits for what feels like forever, and he gets a response. He smiles down at it as he reads the first word. 

Harry: and you deserve it, you do, and you know this, and you are ready to die in this swimming pool because you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this means your life is over anyway. 

Louis: You’re in the eighth grade. You know these things. 

Harry: You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division, 

Louis: and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut

Harry: which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow

Louis can’t stop his face from smiling as he types the last line of the poem. 

Louis: and it doesn’t matter anymore. 

Harry: Louis. I should have known you would find me. 

Louis thinks for a brief, fleeting moment for a response, before he finitely responds with:

Louis: Yeah. You should have.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this was semi enjoyable to read, it's no Tired Tired Sea but we can all dream. This was meant to be a One Shot but I can very well easily turn this into a full fic if people like it enough :)


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